Words To Live By
by InsideOutlaw
Summary: Did a bit of timely advice help the two most successful outlaws in the history of the West succeed in their chosen field?


I felt the impact before I heard the shots. I don't remember falling; just lying in that hot, dirty street with puffs of dust billowing up around me. The sky overhead was a clear, vivid blue with big white clouds floating in it and I recall wondering what he would say when he heard I'd been killed in a gunfight.

After that, things got hazy. The pain came roaring in and slammed into me so hard I couldn't breathe. Faces appeared above me and looked down at me with either curiosity or pity, but I couldn't really focus on them or hear the questions they gabbled at me. I was struggling hard to draw air into my deprived lungs. I could hear my raspy curses, but didn't recognize my own voice. It seemed to come from so far away.

OOOOOOOOOO

My eyelids were heavy and refused to open completely so that I could see clearly. It was dim and hard to see, but I saw a woman, a girl actually, leaning over me and fussing with my bandages. I tried to talk to her, to thank her, but my tongue was thick and wouldn't cooperate. Tired, I closed my eyes and let the pain sweep me away again.

OOOOOOOOOO

When I finally came to, I wasn't shocked to see the bars of a jail cell; I was more surprised to find that I'd lived to see them. The sheriff was hunched over his desk going through his wanted posters. He must've heard me moving around because his head shot up and he stared in my direction a moment before setting aside the posters, standing up, and coming over to peer in through the thick metal bars at me. He was a big, burly man, but his face was pleasant and that was a comfort. I wasn't up to taking any abuse from the law right now.

"You awake?" he asked softly.

"Yeah." I managed to croak. He turned away and walked over to a pail of water sitting on a table at the end of the cell row. I watched warily as he filled a mug using an old wooden ladle. He came back towards me and I was flat-out astonished to see him push open the cell door with his shoulder and walk right in. It hadn't been locked.

He saw the puzzlement in my expression and laughed out loud. "You ain't under arrest, kid. We just needed a place for you to heal up and this seemed like the best choice. You've been out of your head for a while and someone needed to keep an eye on you. I volunteered to let Miss Laura off the hook. She's the doctor's daughter and does his nursin'. You ran her ragged for a few days, but we can't have that; now can we?"

I stared at him trying to absorb his ramblings.

"Here, have some water. I reckon you need it. I spilled more on you than down your gullet the last couple of days." He gently slipped his arm beneath my good shoulder. I tensed and cringed away from the close proximity of that tin star pinned to his shirt and pressing into my cheek. I was too weak to do more than flop back against his arm and he cradled me to his chest like a newborn while carefully raising the cup to my lips. "Now, just take small sips. There's ain't no rush and I've got plenty of water."

It tasted so cold and so good that it was hard not to gulp it. I felt its icy slide down my throat. My mind cleared slightly and I looked up at the big man who was trying so hard not to hurt me. "Th..thank you."

He nodded in response and eased me back down to the cot. "There now; you just lay back there and rest some more. You're gonna be fine, but it's gonna take time. I'll be right over there at the desk if you need me. I've got some questions for you, but they can wait until you're feelin' better."

I tried to smile, but I couldn't. It hurt everywhere and there wasn't a smile left in me. He went back to his work, but left the cell door slightly opened. Sitting down, he picked up his posters and read through them again. Occasionally, he swiveled around in his chair to pin an interesting one on the wall behind him. I closed my eyes, but I was still awake; I just didn't want him to know it. Nice as he was, I didn't have much trust in the law in general; having been on the wrong side of it for some time now. I knew I was lucky to be alive and he had played a major role in making that happen, but I wasn't feeling lucky. I was feeling sick, bone-tired, and scared. I felt alone.

I thought of my ex-partner again and the last time I saw him. A small tug of a frown pulled at the corner of my mouth when I recalled our last conversation. We'd fought about gun fighting and I wondered if he'd be as unamused as I was about my present situation. He'd probably tell me I got what I deserved; that is, after he was done chewing me out. We'd been so angry with each other. He'd raised his fists at me and I had thrown a punch at him trying to get one up on him before he came at me in earnest. Things went downhill from there. Finally, we exhausted ourselves. Well, not quite. I still had enough strength left to gather up my gear and huff out the door, tossing one last surly comment over my shoulder, "I'm outta here."

With those words, I had slammed the door on a lifelong partnership. That had been almost two years ago. How could I have tossed him aside so easily after all we'd been through? We needed each other; at least, I liked to think he needed me; I, for sure, needed him. He had a way of balancing me and keeping me in check. One well-placed word from him had often kept me from letting my temper get the best of me. If he'd still been with me, none of this would've happened. He understood me like no one else ever had or ever would. Not even my folks. I'd missed him terribly over the past few years, but I've been too proud to crawl back and apologize. Well, I wasn't too proud now. Once I healed up, I was gonna go look for him. If a man's lucky, he gets one good horse and one good friend in his lifetime. I have that friend and I was going to find him and make sure he knew how sorry I was for leaving in the first place. The horse could wait.

I shifted slightly on the bunk and a bolt of pain shot through my shoulder, tearing a moan from my lips. I felt, rather than saw, the sheriff's attention shift to me so I lay still; playing possum until I heard the sound of the wanted posters being turned over resume. He might be friendly, but he wasn't sure I was. I knew he was looking for me in that mess of handbills. I wasn't up to answering any questions right now and I had more than a few of my own to ask.

Who was that who had called me out? He'd been fast. I'm pretty fast myself and he'd outdrawn me. Fortunately, I got a shot off, but I don't know what happened to him. I must've killed him or I'd be dead, wouldn't I? I couldn't think about that. I'd never killed anyone before and knowing that I might have killed him hurt more than the hole in my shoulder ever could. I didn't even remember what he looked like. I'd been so intent on watching his eyes; looking for that tell-tale blink that would tell me he was going for his gun, that I never really saw him. It all happened so quickly. I moaned again at the idea that I might be a killer and the sheriff stood up noisily, scraping his chair back.

"Are you hurtin' bad? Do you want some morphine? The doc left some for you."

"Yes." I whispered. Morphine would wipe it all away; the pain, the thoughts, the killing.

"Hold on then. I got a few questions for you before you go driftin' off to sleep again. What's your name, kid, and just how old are you?"

"Did I kill him?" I looked up at the burly man before me and I couldn't stop my eyes from filling with tears.

"Boudreau? Naw, you just winged him; took out his gun arm. He ain't gonna be callin' no kids out for a long time," chuckled the sheriff.

I felt the strength my fears had given me washed away and I could barely muster the energy to reply. He stood waiting patiently as I paused before answering, trying to think whether it mattered if this lawman knew who I was. I didn't know who I was anymore. He wasn't going to find that wanted poster on me. There wasn't one. Not yet.

"It's Heyes, Hannibal Heyes, and I'll be twenty-one come next February."

The sheriff smiled and patted my leg. The name meant nothing to him. "Let me give you a little bit of advice, kid. Leave the gun fighting to somebody else."


End file.
